Have you ever heard of a bunnypig?
That’s what someone called a French Bulldog a long time ago. I thought it was cute. It was how I was introduced to the breed. They’re fat, squishy-faced little lap dogs that look part bunny and part pig.
Winston definitely fits the bill.
1 Part Pig, 1 Part Bunny, ?? Parts dog.
Often, while Winston sniffs around the house doing various dog things I make fun of him. He’s front heavy, he snores and overall his greatest purposes are to snuggle and play. I tease that he’s “useless.”
But Winston doesn’t know that. Winston only knows that he’s a dog. He’s a wolf in his mind.
We do our best to require of him the same things we would require of any dog– sit, down, stay, heel, don’t eat our children, etc. In the summer, he’ll probably want to swim, so we’ll buy him a life vest. He likes snow, so he’s going to need a jacket. He’ll even bring back a ball we throw in his comically oversized muzzle.
So why couldn’t he retrieve?
That was the thought behind this story:
Conformation
Jill N Davies
“When I was a kid there was this movie about a pig. It wasn’t an-award winning thing, you see, it was just a movie—a kid’s movie. But the point is, that in this movie a guy realized his pig had an incredible skill at herding sheep. So, he decided to enter the pig into the sheep-herding competition, and wouldn’t you know it—the pig won.”
“Are you trying to tell me that because there’s a movie about a Pig winning a sheepdog trial that you should be able to enter this…” Candice gestured to the squat little figure at the old man’s side.
The old man followed her gaze, then returned his focus to her with an exuberant, sheepish grin. “His name’s Duck,” he said.
Candice closed her eyes, rolling them behind the protective cover of her lids. Taking in a deep, calming breath, she rejoined reality, calm, centered, and ready to take hold of the situation.
“Sir,” She said, resisting the urge to fuss the lapels of her tweed blazer.
“It’s Herb—Herbert Calahan,” the old man said, transitioning the leash into his left hand before offering the right to her.
Candice looked at it but didn’t take it.
“Mr. Calahan,” she said, starting over again, “These are the Retriever field trials. Duck isn’t a retriever.”
“Ah, but you see Candice,” Herb said, reading the name on her tag, “Duck is a retriever! He’ll retriever anything I set him out to get.”
Candice quelled the rising annoyance with an artificially placid smile, “Surely you can see the difference in the intent of the trials versus what you’re trying to accomplish here, can’t you?”
Herb smiled back, undeterred. “The intent of the trials is to find the best retriever in the field, am I right? Duck is a retriever, through and through. Bread that way or not.”
Candice realized she wasn’t getting anywhere with this approach, so she switched gears. “I can’t register you and Duck without the director’s approval, so if you’d just give me a moment…”
“Yes, you can. I read the bylaws, including this year’s update. There’s nothing stopping you but your own prejudice,” Herb corrected.
“I’m not prejudice!” Candice protested.
“Y’are. But I’ll forgive you for it.” Herb winked, making her blush.
Candice didn’t know what to say. Herb was one step ahead of her at every turn, making her wonder if maybe there was more to his Duck than she realized.
“Tell you what,” Herb offered, laying out his free hand in a peace-making gesture, “If you’re right about Duck not having any business being here, and you register him, then he’ll be disqualified in the first rounds of competition. He and I will go home, and you’ll go on to judge the rest of the competition without having to worry about me and my pig anymore. If I’m right, then you and the other judges can hash it out before the finals. How’s that sound?”
She considered the proposition. Of course they’d be out in the first round…
“Alright Mr. Calahan, you’ve got a deal.” She took his outstretched hand and shook.
Duck was eliminated in the first round, just as Candice predicted. It was inevitable. Waterford Creek was more of a lake than a creek in the spring and took up the better northwestern part of the field. When the fowl went down dead-center in the water it was over. Duck’s first retrieve was a water-retrieve, which was impossible because Duck was a French Bulldog and French Bulldogs can’t swim.
Candice could have guaranteed this eventuality if Herb had given her the opportunity. All the dogs did a water-retrieve at one point in time. Even if Duck were a fantastic retriever he’d be eliminated once the target hit the water. What she didn’t predict was how precisely how Duck would get his dq.
In the quiet of her home, hours after the day’s trial, Candice flipped through the prime directory, searching as her mind wandered back to the field.
Even before the fowl landed, she held her pencil over the disqualification box, but she waited, being the stickler for rules that she was, for the dog to act.
Herb studied the fall. When the timer started, he looked to Duck’s squashed snout and said, in a calm, soft tone, “Fetch it up.”
Duck sprang into action. He bolted, tiny legs shooting out and pulling back in perfect, comical rhythm, carrying his too-heavy body to the water’s edge. He tried the creek and found his limit about 30 inches out. Candice smirked when Duck came back to shore, but instead of returning to Herb, the dog bolted to the edge of the ring. There was the dq…
Duck yapped at a cued retriever. He circled, then yipped. The stunning chocolate responded immediately, following the brindled bull back to the water’s edge. Duck waited as the chocolate first waded, then swam out to the fowl. Candice watched in awe as the retriever brought the fowl to Duck, relinquishing it without protest. Duck then took it up in his wide maw, carrying it at the base of the neck back to Herb before releasing it into his waiting hand.
Duck was disqualified.
Candice was impressed.
She laughed, shaking her head at the unbelievable events of the day. The chocolate whose help Duck had solicited ended up taking the field. She wondered if Duck had known that the retriever would. There was no way of knowing any more than there was a way of knowing how Duck had managed the stunt.
She sat back in her recliner, grabbed up her glass of cabernet and hit play.
Babe was the perfect movie to end the day with.
The End
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